Tuesday, 1 August 2017

After an incredible few days away at Dragonrise Witchcamp, it was suddenly just me and my dog alone in the woods back home, carrying on the work which had begun.

I build a fire with my voice,

flames dancing inside my body.

For courage and life.

Every step along the oak trail

path of ancient steadfast friends,

tears falling,

my will grows stronger.

The forest opens to me with offerings

as if it knows better than myself

the work I came here to do.

Every leaf whispers 'it is time'.

Every step deeper into the forest

whispers a louder goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

And finally, it is real.

Cailleach kneels beside me,

passing me acorns from a fallen oak.

For the closure of a relationship that seeded 20 yrs before it fell.

Goodbye to it's sadness.

Goodbye to it's pain.

Goodbye to it's anger.

Goodbye to it's hate.

Goodbye to it's grieving.

Goodbye to it's hurt from untrue stories told.

Goodbye to it's sex and love, which made a child, which made a world.

Dropping it all into the earth,

a burial for a rich compost.

Sealed securely closed.

Cailleach passes me seven fresh green oak leaves:

Come renewal.

Come acceptance.

Come transformation.

Come honouring.

Come healing.

Come truth.

Come sex and love, whole to myself.

Later, I go to a house, carrying flowers.

To lay down the burden I have been holding on to,

by turning it into the gift

genuinely and graciously given.

Finding the beauty in the discomfort.

Releasing myself.

Renewing my heart.

Ready for what is to come.

Yes!

This would not have happened without the wonderful and life changing experience that was Dragonrise Witchcamp

So much of the inspiration and strength came from the camp story of Cailleach and from the teachers during pathwork, for example the practice of 'finding beauty in discomfort'.

Sustaining and empowering songs which are very actively helping the process are from a CD sung by the truly amazing Peti Songcatcher, available here

In particular I feel so much love and gratitude to my affinity group at camp: Woody, Sass, Eric and Peti. You have all helped me to shift a big block in my life, and I feel so much happier now! Amazing to consider that this time one week ago we had not yet met. We are the land! We are the land! We are the best!

Tuesday, 6 September 2016

The start of the new Not-Back-To-School year is always a time to take stock of where we've come to.

Having been home-educated his whole life, my 15yr old teen has never experienced the September thrill of standing at the front door for a photo in his new uniform. So with a pang of guilt this morning for what he's missed out on, I did consider sneaking into his room at about 11am to get a proud mummy moment pic of him wrapped up sleeping in his relatively recently laundered duvet. But then the moment seemed too sacred to disturb ;)

It's two years since I wrote a lengthy piece on not going back to school. I re-read it this morning and saw that this was written just one month before his father unexpectedly left and our entire personal and educational life changed and I can now confirm the truth of that old Philip Larkin quote 'They fuck you up, your mum and dad'. Which is a challenging truth to face in relation to yourself and all the expectations and intentions that you wanted and dreamed of providing for your child.

Home educating as a single parent has not been easy. But it is still my son's choice. And I am still committed to an educational philosophy and practice that is about consent; that honours individual choice and freedom; that trusts a person to learn what has meaning and value for them without coercion. A practice which trusts that even when things go wrong and at times when the ground appears frozen, infertile and broken, the most unexpected seedlings can emerge to surprise you, in places no one could have mapped out, and in ways no one else could have imagined, much less prescribed.

I don't believe in compulsory curriculums but if I had to create one, it would include a lot about RESILIENCE when the world, or somebody, or yourself and your own demons, tries to break you. It would be about trusting in those diehard seedlings that will spring up out of the asphalt to amaze and inspire you, make you smile and take you on a whole new adventure of growth and opportunity. Sometimes schools or elsewhere can teach this better than some children's home lives can (and it goes without saying that there are some awesome and inspiring, if tired and frustrated, teachers) but facilitating learning in a voluntary, cooperative and individually tailored way without a focus on grades and exams, requires a huge shift in the State approach to education.

So we're still here, being pretty damn resilient in most cases, and looking back, we've done quite a big mix of stuff but a couple of things that have been a particularly big part of life over the past year (which I have slightly complicated feelings about) are:

* unrestricted 'screen time' (although I am not allowed to use the generic term of 'screen time' as he points out that it derogatively lumps together a hugely diverse range of activities, media, tutorials, films, game playing, game development, coding, communication with friends, digital art, music etc).

* virtual reality - possibly the most potent escape and distraction from your own life that there can be without chemicals, whilst you're still sitting in your own bedroom (though personally I prefer a good book!). So we've climbed Everest and been in space and under the earth in caves, but my favourite was sat in a jazz bar with Vincent Van Gogh looking out at a starry sky...

I'm guessing that the following year will be more of the same, the ups and downs, the planned and the unexpected, the moving on towards adulthood whatever that means (I'm still trying to figure out what that one's about).

And as for a new 'school' year pic - well my son doesn't want one, so here's a pic I took at a home ed camp last year of a cute beetle going about her day just doing her own thing, which is sometimes the most excellent achievement of all.

Friday, 11 December 2015

Since I got back from Calais I’ve been noticing clothes a lot
more. I realise that after just a few days my mind has become fairly acutely
attuned to categorising things in terms of ‘suitable’ and ‘unsuitable’. That
is, suitable or unsuitable for protection in a refugee camp, in Winter. The
distinction between the two, representing much more than a piece of clothing.
The ‘yes’ and ‘no’ piles representing a distinction between on the one side -
entitlement; privilege; resources; choices... Whilst on the other side –
survival. Mostly that – survival, and the retaining of human dignity.Last night at work back in the UK (welcoming people coming to
the Panto) I noticed the men wearing thin clean white jumpers (there were quite
a few) and suddenly the ‘unsuitable’ label pops into my mind shining a light on
the simple privilege I wouldn’t have considered before Calais. Thin white
jumpers which assume heating and clothes-washing facilities and a frequent
change of clothes. Jumpers which in Calais would have been thrown firmly on the
‘no’ pile.I notice people wearing shoes – that is, any kind of footwear
that is not a trainer (suitable for running to jump on lorries/trains) or
wellies/hiking boots (suitable for walking on muddy, flooded, bumpy ground).
‘Unsuitable’ shoes which assume the privilege of having solid even floors and
pavements to walk on. Footwear which does not require the judgement of being
more or less likely to give you trench foot...

Fellow volunteers – when I close my eyes I’m still searching the
waist sizes of jeans! And taping boxes...

And seeing so many faces – the faces of the people who stood in
the long line to take the toiletry packs we handed them from the back of the
van. I am remembering all their faces – the smiles, the laughing ‘hello’s’ and
‘thank you’s’, the faces with pain in them, the downcast eyes, the joking, the
disappointed faces, the hopeful and the resigned. The bald man taking the
shampoo and catching my questioning expression - ‘yes, yes, I need’ as he rubs
his head laughing. Laughing together.I see the faces of the two young men from Afghanistan and hear
their voices telling us about arriving on the boat in Greece, how scary it was,
and about how they felt so touched by the kindness of people welcoming them
ashore with cups of tea and biscuits, how they would never forget it.I see the woman and young boy carrying a crate of bananas
between them. There must have been a fruit distribution. Suddenly there are
lots of people holding apples and bananas. A man who sees me tying bin bags
around the fence where a rubbish point is, offers his banana. The generosity of
people is so incredibly humbling.I see the faces of the boys walking alongside our car drawing
hearts in the raindrops running down our windows.I smile seeing the little girl who is laughing and laughing, and
sticking her tongue out at these funny people who have turned up in her field
and are doing such a silly dance ‘Oh the hokey cokey...’ and insisting on
sharing her smarties with us.I see the woman’s face as she steps out from between the tents
and we smile at each other and she is nodding her head to me, and it feels like
between both of us there is a big longing unspoken welcome. I have never
realised until that moment, how deeply it feels a smile, merely a genuine
smile, can connect hearts through untold boundaries and differences. I can
still feel her smile in my heart.Our team – dropping donations; building shelters; repairing
homes; working in the medic caravan; teaching English in the library; making up
and distributing food parcels; sorting shoes; making up and distributing
clothing and toiletry packs; joining a peaceful protest organised by refugees
about the boy killed on the road and demanding to be treated as human beings;
talking to people... Just four days of helping where we could, which is such a
tiny drop in the ocean of support and change that is so desperately needed. It
feels so inadequate, because it is. But if you are able to go, for whatever
amount of time, please go. It will make a difference and sometimes the
difference that it will make could be immeasurable. And there are amazing
volunteers there who would really appreciate some helphttps://www.facebook.com/care4calais/One
time when we were working in the warehouse, the dance track that was playing
had the words ‘to understand is to transform’. It stuck in my mind. By
participating in the work here, by meeting the people, we gain an understanding
that no amount of media can give, and it is transforming. How much this has the
power to transform the appalling and shocking injustice and harm taking place
at Calais and to refugees around the world, is yet to be seen. But the old
adage is clear – we can’t wait for our ‘leaders’ to do the right thing, we need
to be the change we wish to see. And keep on moving towards understanding.

Tuesday, 6 October 2015

Our first stop was at the L’auberge des migrants warehouse
where we spent a couple of hours stocking up vans for the convoy we were
joining for the afternoon’s distribution. We combined our blankets, sleeping
bags and tents with those of others so that each van only contained one type of
item for a more efficient and quick distribution once at the jungle. Other items
were put in their relevant categories in the warehouse where we joined other
volunteers sorting through the mountain of clothes.

Donations at L'Auberge des Migrants

More donations were arriving all the time and lots more
people are desperately needed to help with sorting through it all, so that it’s
possible to get it where it’s needed in the camp. If anyone’s got any days to
spare- the warehouse needs you! I filled my empty car with items not required, to
bring them back home instead of adding to the growing disposal issue in the
warehouse. An enormous truckload of pallets turned up which was brilliant as
shelter-building is the big thing in Calais over the next couple of months. The
pallets are making great floors for the new structures which are rapidly going
up each day in the camp.

Once in the camp the vans were opened one at a time or far
enough away from each other so as to keep things as calm as possible. People
formed the familiar lines behind the vans and if not helping with the actual
distribution procedure we took the opportunity to chat a bit with people who
were waiting. I was struck by how much joking, laughter and smiles were shared
with us, the ability of people to keep such a strong sense of humour under the
harsh and awful conditions they are surviving in. Others talked of their
journeys or their families elsewhere. It’s hard to hold back the tears. The man
who wanted to show us his phone video of his children left behind in Syria, film
of them laughing and in his arms, “I miss them so much”. Saying he hadn’t been
able to speak to them for a week now and had heard there had been a bomb just a
couple of houses away. He had felt the journey could be more dangerous for them
so he left first to try and secure a safe home in the UK which he could bring
them to. How hard to weigh up the least dangerous decision of only inherently
dangerous options.

Another thing which was striking over our visit was the
generosity of people. People wanting to share their small amount of food or
make us tea, serve us a meal, offer a chair to sit on... So many greetings
“Hello, how are you?”and shaking of hands. Constantly feeling humbled by the
people we meet.

We dropped several boxes of tools, diy stuff, tarps etc to
the builder’s corner which is a constant hive of activity, hammering and
sawing, putting the frames together for the ‘houses’ which are replacing the
inadequate tents for the growing numbers of families, women and children coming
to the camp. I was told an estimate of about 200 more people are arriving each
day. I met several people just arriving while I was there, looking a bit
bewildered, tired or asking where they could find medical care. There is
nowhere near enough medical care for all those who need it. The shelters are
based on priority need, families with children, so for now, many are turned
away when approaching for wood or ‘houses’. This is where I decided to plant a
large amount of my donation cash as it feels like this is the most urgent need
at the moment with colder weather, rain and Winter coming.

In this field, we also arrived while a great community
atmosphere was being expressed through Kurdish music and dancing, which we
clapped along or joined in with. The resilience of spirit again which is so
evident here!
http://rudaw.net/NewsDetails.aspx?pageid=162706

The amazing smile of the pregnant woman I talked with, pointing
to her belly and saying “nine month”, about to give birth living in her tent
here with the life-threatening level of hygiene issues within the camp – how
could anyone find this situation acceptable and not entirely shameful of our
governments?

When I went back to the car for some more tools, two small
girls were playing, running hand in hand laughing through the grass amongst the butterflies...The shining beauty of these
young lives held captive and placed in danger here by our Government’s cruel
border policies.

As we drove back to the tunnel we passed groups of men on
the long walk to risk their lives again in the nightly attempt to cross to the
UK, and wished so deeply that we could assist them safely to a new life in
safety.

Saturday, 29 August 2015

I just returned from visiting the refugee camp at Calais and have been asked by several people to tell how it all went and I feel strangely stuck - I think because of the enormity that it touches on, and the
immensity of feeling that arises from directly looking into the eyes of someone
asking you with such desperation for a blanket, or for shoes and knowing your
country's politicians and media are doing their best to erase their humanity.
And because the words - sorry I have no more shoes, sorry there are no more
blankets left - make me feel ashamed and make my heart hurt.

The first person to approach me was an elderly man who was pointing
through the car window, asking quietly for a blanket. And for trousers. I
wanted him to wait so that I could get him a blanket and trousers. He was
saying 'I came from Pakistan' and was starting to say more, but there were a
lot of people gathering and I lost him before I opened the car, distracted by
police threatening to pepper spray people. I don't know why the police turned
up threatening to spray people. I wondered if it is partly to put people off
from bringing aid. I have heard his voice and seen his face in my mind all day
today. I really hope he gets a blanket from someone else soon.

Other faces and voices are still being processed in my mind.

Sister, why did you not give me a jacket?

Because you were not in the line, I'm sorry.

But I waited for an hour.

I'm sorry.

Look at my feet, I have no shoes. Please you have shoes?

Lots of people showed me their feet in their split shoes or their
flip-flops.

Sorry - I will bring more shoes next time.

Please a blanket, I am cold. Very cold at night, I cannot sleep.

There are no blankets left, I am sorry.

Shoes, please. There are no shoes left.

I took no photo's. I would have liked to, but each time I thought to
reach for my phone, it didn't feel appropriate. French TV crew turned up and
continued to film despite being asked to stop. A person's dignity. A person's
consent. Concepts for the media to reflect upon.

As we were about to leave, a young boy, maybe 8 or 9, came to the car.
The car was empty now except for a bag of pots of party bubbles I had brought
in case I met any children. I pass him the bag and when he looks inside his
face turns into a big excited open-mouthed smile. That moment. I don't know
anything about him or what difficulties he had journeyed through to end up
living in the appalling conditions of this refugee camp but even if I had
brought nothing else that day, it was worth it to see that boy's smile and to
bring him some moments of bubble fun.

Despite my car not being a van I had managed to pack in what had been
almost a whole roomful of stuff that had been collected in my house, leaving
out only a couple of bagfuls. Compared to the need, it felt next to nothing,
but when I started to feel deflated by how minimal our contribution, I was
reminded that it was not nothing... Thank you Hayley...Tonight some people will
sleep in a tent or under duvets or in sleeping bags that they didn't have
before. Some people will be wearing warmer clothes, wearing shoes on their
feet, brushing their teeth, eating organic beans... Someone will be playing
swingball and some kids will be blowing bubbles.

It's a tiny sticking plaster that leaves me feeling sickened, sad and
angry at our politicians lack of humanity, but nourished by the goodness of
people who are taking some responsibility into their own hands, however small, and
refusing to buy into a narrative that is becoming more cruel, and more wrong
each day.